She had been ready for just about anything, when she pounced on Aunt Magica.
Dying, of course. An obvious choice. Magica was cartoonish, gloating, and ego-bloated, but she was also ruthless and cunning when her dramatic flare didn’t get in the way. And if she could use both at once, well. It rarely ended well.
Hence the shadow vortex.
So dying was an obvious option.
Being captured again was another, though slightly less likely. Aunt Magica would view her as a liability, now, a pawn that had long since been sacrificed and had no effect on the game anymore. Something to throw away. Not a family member to protect, or even a servant to reward - just a pawn to toss out.
Still. It was possible. She would fight her aunt every step of the way, but it was possible.
She was even ready for being imprisoned in the shadows again. Going back to being tied to Magica, no agency of her own. Following her. Unable to do a thing. Unable to even think, really.
She still remembered that time. It seemed like an empty fever dream.
Well. She had never had a fever dream. But if she had to guess what one was like, she would assume it was like that.
Still.
Anything for Webby.
Her best friend. Her Beagle Bird. Her precious angel.
Her sister.
Seeing the awful pain on her face.
Well. Seeing. Again, being dear auntie’s shadow was… strange.
Seeing, sure.
Seeing the pain on Webby’s face changed her, maybe. Not much, but… considering she had never really changed in her life…
Seeing Webby fight like a girl possessed.
She would know.
She had never thought you’re not a nice person could sound like the world’s most scathing critique.
She had been ready for nearly anything, when she dove at her aunt.
Anything for Webby.
But this was worse.
Worse then anything.
If she had told her past self that, she would’ve laughed. After all - she had her mind. Her sanity. Even her freedom, in a way. She was Webby’s shadow, sure, but she had agency. Which was her dark heart’s fondest desire, in the end.
Heh.
She had really been an idiot, huh?
Because she already had everything she wanted, right there.
The promise of a family. Scrooge, the hunting miser - the great uncle she had been willing to tell her greatest secret to - the broken man, dead, or close enough, without his family - promising her a place in it. In that family. Smiling. Ready to give a last stand, with her - her - at his side.
She had had everything!
And it was just…
gone
Because that was how she thought of it. gone . No punctuation, no capitalization. Just… there. Silent. In an empty background. Sitting there, the summary of all her dreams.
gone
And this was worse. Worse then anything. Worse then everything.
Just watching. Unable to do anything, as Webby hunted down trouble. For her.
Her.
The best friend. The Beagle Bird. The sister.
The traitor.
Undeserving of every title.
She knelt beside her friend - her best friend, her only friend, her Beagle Bird, her sister - sitting in front of a collection of candles, chanting in some long-dead language.
Just give it up, Pink
Nothing.
Of course there was nothing.
And it wouldn’t work.
Oh, there were stirrings of magic. Weak, but there.
Weak, though.
Too weak.
Far too weak. The person who made that book was either deluded or a con artist.
She just wanted to see Webby let her go.
No matter how much she didn’t want that. She knew it would make her heart ache, to see Webby forget her. The jealousy would stew for every new friend. That she would weep for days upon days. That her heart, foolish and sentimental - just like Aunt Magica said - would betray what she wanted.
But she still wanted it.
Because this was worse.
She would hate seeing Webby growing up without her. But seeing her hellbent on finding her - the traitor, the pressure, the awful friend - was so much worse.
But still, it warmed her heart.
She scooted closer - desperate for any warmth. For the feeling of just one more hug.
She wrapped her arms around the girl’s back, and burrowed her chin into her neck.
She glanced down at the friendship bracelet in the middle of the circle of candles.
An unwilling smile tugged at her lips. She burrowed into the girl further, being as careful as she could not to phase through.
For just a moment, she could’ve sworn phantom tingles raced through her flesh.
Sentimental fool.”
She whispered it, running her hand through Webby’s hair while tears began to spill from her eyes.
Suddenly, Webby opened her eyes. The light, barely-there stirrings of magic vanished.
“Lena?”
Fraid not, Pink
She said, wishing she could hop out and surprise her with a massive, fierce hug.
But she couldn’t give hugs. At least, not ones either of them could feel.
There was a pause, before Webby sighed, and stood.
Lena wished, more then anything, that she could just move on.
Webby glanced down at her shoulder, and froze in the middle of the hallway.
She had thought she felt something - heard something, even - but she had just passed it off as unreasonable hopefulness…
But there were stains on her shirt. Her shoulder, to be specific.
She held the offending item up, and sniffed at it. When she didn’t smell anything - at the risk of it just being something dripping from the attic ceiling - she licked it.
It was… salty.
…
Not…
Tears?
She stared out into nothing, wondering what that could mean.
…
She decided.
A grin stretched her lips.
“I’m coming, Lena.”
There was no response, but she didn’t need one.
She was on the right track.
She had to be.